


Anywhere That You Tell Me To

by Traincat



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gilmore Girls Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Comic Book Science, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/pseuds/Traincat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny's a single uncle, Peter runs a diner, Valeria's a genius and Victor von Doom has a thing about Friday night dinners. Or, the Gilmore Girls AU nobody needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anywhere That You Tell Me To

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, after complaining about how you would read seven million Gilmore Girls fusions, you decide to put your money where your mouth is. Mostly because I realized that the most obvious contender for the part of Emily Gilmore would be Victor von Doom. 30000% ridiculous and now with COMIC BOOK SCIENCE for maximum happy endings! I regret nothing! 
> 
> I was influenced heavily by the Fantastic Four #1000 Anniversary Special, which I recommend to anybody who wants more FF&Doom family adventures. It is also _completely impossible_ to figure out my two favorite GG episodes from this fic.
> 
> Haven is the name of the school Val and Franklin attend in Claremont's FF run. I based Val here on a mix of modern Val and Claremont's teenage Val von Doom.

Valeria was busy at the counter when Johnny got the call. She was talking about particle physics or Proust or whatever else she’d taken up this week. Johnny had stopped trying to keep up three days or three grades ago, depending on how you counted.

“No phones!” Peter said, snapping his fingers at him.

“Says you and what army?” Johnny said.

“There’s a sign!” Peter said. “I'm pretty sure you can read!”

“Who cares about one little phone rule anyway?” Johnny demanded, ignoring the bait. Peter could do so much better.

Every hand in the diner shot up - Val’s included, the little traitor. Johnny scowled, fumbling for his phone and his coffee as he headed for the door. “Diner dictator.”

“Do not take that cup outside!” Peter warned, leaning so far over the counter he looked like he might topple right over. “That is an indoor-only cup!”

“Sorry, can’t hear you!” Johnny said. “I’m on the phone!”

He was out the door before Peter could chuck a day-old bagel at him.

“Yello, Storm’s House of Caffeine and Lighter Fluid, how may we direct your call?” he said, sandwiching his phone between his shoulder and ear for better access to coffee. He tried to ignore the elaborate strangle-y hand motions Peter was throwing at him through the window because he was much too mature and sophisticated for that kind of behavior. He failed.

He was so distracted by the murder thing Peter was doing with his eyebrows (and the way he was shoving a bran muffin and an orange in Val’s direction, because Peter was convinced that he and Val lived off nothing but pizza and were going to die of scurvy) that he almost missed what the voice on the other end of the line said.

“Yeah, no, Valeria Richards’ guardian, that’s me,” he said. “What’s this about?”

Five minutes later, he stumbled back into May’s Diner. Val was safely sequestered at Kurt’s usual table, probably getting the skinny on his latest day job, so he sat down at the counter and shoved his empty mug in Peter’s direction.

“I need a refill,” he said. “And about ten seconds after that I’m going to need another.”

“You’re cut off,” Peter said, even though he was already pouring the coffee. Johnny grabbed his wrist.

“Hey,” he said with one sidelong glance to make sure Val was occupied - were she and Kurt speaking in German? When had Val learned German? Johnny was going to run away and join the circus. “She got in.”

“What?” Peter said. Then it clicked. “No!”

“Yes!” Johnny said, smiling so wide it hurt. Peter laughed out loud, eyes crinkling up at the corners the way they did when he really, truly smiled. Johnny’s stomach went a little flippy. He blamed it on not enough caffeine.

“She got in,” Peter said, shaking his head and beaming like it was the best thing he'd ever heard. That was Johnny's favorite thing about Peter - they fought like wet cats in a sack, as Ben would've said once upon a time, but end of the day he got it. He got the things that really mattered. “Okay. It’s celebratory pancakes time.”

"Marry me," Johnny said, leaning across the counter and batting his eyelashes. He'd said it roughly 87 times since Peter had opened the diner and yet there was still no ring on his finger.

"Marry yourself," Peter called back, busy with the grill.

"Trust me," Johnny said, elbows up on the countertop. "I would if they'd let me."

 

* * *

 

Johnny had two hours before the news got out, and that was if he was lucky. It didn't matter that he'd only told Peter, who was the secret-keeping equivalent of a supermax prison - in this town, news traveled like someone was playing Pandemic to win. Time was precious, and there were people who needed to hear it from him before they heard it from their neighbor's cousin's sister-in-law who they ran into at the grocer.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jean Paul asked, catching him trying to sneak the backway in at the inn.

"The kitchen?" Johnny tried valiantly, hoping against hope that a fit of ennui would descend upon Jean Paul and that Johnny would be spared whatever bilingual outburst he had coming his way.

"The kitchen," Jean Paul repeated, his voice dangerously level.

"Yep," Johnny said, leaning towards the left. Jean Paul followed. Johnny leaned right and Jean Paul swayed that way as well. Johnny waited until the last second then feinted, dodging around Jean Paul and heading for the kitchen.

The inn hadn't been Johnny's first, second, or tenth choice, but May Parker, she who held the town in her pocket, had made him an offer he couldn't refuse: basic employment. Combined with the cars he fixed on weekends, he kept Val fed, clothed, and living in a small library.

Not bad for a guy who hadn't quit college so much as run screaming.

"Wyatt!" he said, dodging Darla and her truly gigantic harp. He flung open the doors, unable to stop grinning. "She got in!"

Pans clattered. A prep cook yelped. Wyatt rounded the corner, wielding a pot full of peach preserves. "She got in?"

"Was there ever any doubt?" Johnny asked, spreading his arms wide.

Wyatt threw his head back with happy laughter. Next thing Johnny knew he was being grabbed up in a fierce hug, his face pressed into Wyatt's broad chest. He very carefully edged the hand holding the steaming pot away from his shoulder. Sweet, merciful Wynona grabbed it away from him as she whirled by.

"Do you two always have to do this in the kitchen?" she demanded.

"Yes," Johnny and Wyatt chorused.

The door swung open and Val peered in, backpack swinging from her shoulders. "Uncle Johnny? Jean Paul said you were in here." She caught sight of him and Wyatt and made a face. "Is this one of those moments? Can I leave?"

"Does she know?" Wyatt asked.

Val's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Know what?"

Johnny reached out and snagged her by the sleeve, wheeling her in until she was crushed between him and Wyatt. Val protested the whole time even as she snuggled up against Wyatt's side.

"Group hug," Wyatt said sagely, putting Val in the world's gentlest headlock. She broke out of it, skinny limbs flailing, and had to tilt her head all the way back to glare at him.

"Know _what_?" she repeated.

Johnny took a deep breath and told her: "You got into Haven."

 

* * *

 

Paying for Haven, though. That was an unexpected issue. A scholarship, Johnny figured. It wasn't like Val wasn't the most brilliant kid on the face of the planet.

Possibly Johnny had been hoping for too much.

The girl at the bank laughed so hard when Johnny asked about a loan that she had to put her head down on her desk and snort to herself for a few minutes, which honestly Johnny felt was a little much.

"You know if I had it," Wyatt started, sitting out on the porch with Johnny. He took a swig of his beer, eyes soft with concern.

Johnny punched him in the shoulder. "Shut up, of course I know. Anyway. I have one other option."

"You don't have the temperament to be a good prostitute," Wyatt said. Johnny choked on his beer.

"Wow, thanks, best friend," he said. Wyatt grinned, shrugging. Johnny huffed, sulking for a second. "Anyway, it's worse than that."

It took Wyatt a second to catch on. "No."

Johnny shrugged. "I have to. What other option do I have?"

Wyatt was quiet for a long moment. "I think," he said, opening another beer and passing it Johnny's way, "that you should definitely reconsider the prostitute thing."

Saturday morning Johnny got up early, drank coffee alone in the kitchen and then wrote Val a note saying he'd be home soon. He stuck it on the fridge for her to find. Then he got in the car and drove the route he still knew like the back of his hand all the way to Victor von Doom's mansion.

It took him a moment, once he got there. Just the sight of the front lawn reminded him so painfully of lying on the green grass next to Sue while Ben threw paper airplanes for Franklin to chase and Valeria read by their feet. If he closed his eyes he could still hear it, like a favorite song: Reed and Victor insulting each other through an open window.

He leaned his shoulder against the window and pulled out his phone.

_"You've reached Peter Parker. I'm not available right now, so leave a name and a number at the beep, thanks."_

"Listen," Johnny said to Peter's machine, climbing out of his car and peering up at the austere mansion sprawled at the end of the driveway. "I'm at Victor's, so if I don't come in for dinner tonight you can let the cops know where my body is, okay? Okay."

He paused on the steps, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Shit. Why am I doing this? For Val, right? For Val." He took a breath. "Okay. Sorry, Pete."

He hung up, stuffed his phone in his pocket, and then lifted the heavy brass doorknocker, because when it came to Victor a doorbell just wouldn't do. No, he had to live the life of a Dracula roleplayer - complete with accent, minus the fun.

The door swung open to reveal the last person Johnny had ever expected to open the door at Doom Manor: Victor von Doom himself.

Victor had been Reed's friend at a college, and later his business partner and Valeria's godfather. He'd been on the sidelines of Johnny life for years and then, one day, when Val had been two, Reed and Victor had caught onto something, babbling on about dimensions and space travel and half a dozen other things Johnny had never bothered listening to. Reed and Sue had packed themselves and the kids up to head to Victor's mansion, and Johnny and Ben Grimm had followed because - what else was there for them to do? Ben had a good job in town, and Johnny was a directionless dropout, moody after a bad breakup. Playing nanny for his sister in a beautiful mansion hadn't sounded half-bad.

For one amazing year, everything had seemed perfect. Then it had all fallen apart. Looking up into Victor's face brought everything back - the good and the bad.

"Jonathan," Victor greeted. "How... unexpected."

"Why did you open the door?" Johnny asked, peering around him. "Did you kill the maid?"

Victor stared down at Johnny, eyebrows lifted high. "I could see you from the window. Dithering."

"Dithering," Johnny repeated, scornful. "Who talks like that?"

"I do, clearly," Victor said. "Did you plan on coming inside or just standing around in the driveway?"

Johnny took a deep breath - in for a penny, in for a pound - and stepped into the hallowed halls of Victor's home. It didn't look any different from the last time he'd seen it. Still the same shiny dark wood floors, still the green curtains and the long green carpet. Still Victor looking at him like he was tracking mud into the house.

The last time he'd been here he'd smuggled toddler Val out a second story window in the middle of a thunderstorm. The total lack of drama upon his return was more than enough to throw him.

"Lucia's in the basement," Victor said, and didn't elaborate on the why. Johnny decided he didn't really want to know. He'd never been in Victor's basement, but he was pretty sure the renovations a few years ago were done to turn it into some kind of Victorian torture dungeon.

"Something to drink?" Victor asked stiffly. He looked just as uncomfortable as Johnny felt, standing by the drinks cart in a finely tailored emerald green suit. Johnny stuck his chapped hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans.

"I'm good," he said.

Victor cast a disdainful look down his aristocratic nose but didn't press. He poured himself a large glass of fine Latverian brandy. Johnny directed his gaze to the portrait hanging above the fireplace, which was roaring even though it was summer.

"Is that you?" he asked, squinting. "Do you have a huge oil painting of yourself above your own fireplace? Is this actually happening?"

"Jonathan." Victor's tone was one of deep annoyance. "Why are you here?"

Johnny took a deep breath. No sense delaying the inevitable. "Val got into Haven."

Victor stilled. Something strange flitted across his face - Johnny might've called it happiness, if that was a thing Victor was capable of, but the fact was all Victor's emotions ran in the sneering pride department.

"Well," Victor said, moving to stand by his portrait. Johnny was never getting over that. "That's hardly a surprise. She's a very bright girl."

"That she is," Johnny said, rocking back on his heels.

"In spite of her upbringing," Victor continued as if Johnny hadn't spoken. Johnny set his jaw and reminded himself: for Val, for Val, all for Val. If he would jump in front of a bus for the kid, he could stand talking to Victor.

"Gee, Vic, tell me how you really feel," he said. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Look, so - Val got in."

"You said that already," Victor said dismissively. "Do try and stand up straight when you talk, Jonathan."

"See, the thing is," Johnny started, trying to talk and figure out how to best avoid a stint in Victor's probable torture dungeon at the same time. He came up with nothing. "Val's school -"

"You need money," Victor surmised.

Johnny cringed, though he couldn't be surprised that Victor had figured it out. What other reason would there for Johnny to be back here, other than to ask for cash? He felt his shoulders hunch a little at the thought. The shame burned in his throat.

Suddenly he wished he'd taken Victor up on his offer of a drink after all.

"A loan," he said firmly. "I'd pay you back for all of it, and - we can work out interest, so -"

"Don't be ridiculous," Victor said, sweeping neatly from the room. Johnny followed after him, feeling a little dizzy. "I have no need of your money. Valeria will have what she needs."

It sounded too good to be true, and it was Victor. There was no way it was that easy. "What's the catch?"

Victor paused, a deliberate thing. He turned his cool gaze back on Johnny. "I would like to see her."

Johnny's blood ran cold. "No. No way."

"Dinner," Victor said. "Once a week. Are Fridays amenable? You, of course, may attend as well, though I'm afraid you'll be quite bored."

"No," said Johnny. "Think of something else. I'll pay you back, I'll scrub your torture dungeon with a toothbrush, I'll paint DOOM RULES across my ass in green and run naked through the town square -"

"A sight never before seen, I'm sure," Victor cut in dismissively.

"But I'm not going to bring Val here every Friday night and pretend like everything is fine, Victor," Johnny said. "That's not going to happen."

There was one icy moment of silence, and then Victor set his drink down neatly on table.

"That is my offer," Victor said. "My only offer, Jonathan. I trust I will see you and Valeria both this Friday."

 

* * *

 

Johnny drove, blowing far past the speed limit. He took the turns fast and sharp, the wheel spinning easily in his hands, the car an extension of himself. He lost himself in it, the way he hadn't let himself since the night Sue and Reed had disappeared, Ben and Franklin with them, leaving him and Val all alone.

The thought of Val brought him up short. He breathed deep, easing his foot off the pedal, and watched the speedometer drop. The adrenaline fell away, leaving him tired down to his bones and suddenly, achingly lonely. He was furious at Sue and Reed in a raw way, like the wounds had never scarred over.

He pulled up in front of the diner and just let himself have a moment, head down, forehead against the steering wheel.

Dinner at Doom's. Every Friday night, possibly for the rest of his life, because after two weeks he and Victor would definitely try to kill each other. He couldn't do this - but he didn't have any other option.

"For Val," he said, a mantra. "For Val, for Val, for Val."

Someone knocked on the window. He looked up to find Peter standing by the window, mug of coffee in his hand. He waved his free hand and then mimed rolling down a car window. Johnny obliged.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," said Peter. "You look terrible."

"Sweet talker," Johnny accused, leaning back in the seat. Peter held the coffee out and he took it gratefully, wrapping his hands around the warm mug and breathing in the steam. "What happened to your indoor-only cup policy?"

"That's my only outdoor cup," Peter said, crossing his arms on the window frame. Johnny gave himself one spiteful moment to imagine him falling over if he rolled the window back up. "I wanted to check to make sure you weren't dead."

"Thanks," Johnny snorted.

"So?" Peter asked, apparently not going anywhere. Through the diner window Johnny could see Kurt trying to get his attention, but Peter's gaze was fixed on him, his eyebrows drawn together. He looked so honestly concerned Johnny half wanted to hit him and half wanted to kiss him.

Nothing new there on either front.

"So what?" Johnny asked, busy inhaling coffee.

"So you left me a message giving me detailed instructions on what I should tell Dateline if you got murdered this afternoon," Peter said. "I think I get to know what that was about."

"Fair," Johnny admitted. He fixed his gaze on Kurt's increasingly desperate acrobatics, unable to look Peter in his painfully earnest face. He drummed the fingers of his free hand against the steering wheel in a restless rhythm. "I can't afford Val's school, so I went to Victor for a loan."

Peter cringed. "Ouch. But I do have to point out that you're not murdered."

"No," Johnny said. "Victor decided a slow death was the way to go. He'll give Val the money, but we have to have dinner with him every Friday until she graduates."

He drained the rest of the coffee in one go and handed the cup back to Peter through the window.

"Refill," Peter said. "Got it."

"You're the sexiest man who isn't me in America!" Johnny yelled at his retreating back.

"But only when I'm holding coffee, right?" Peter called back, shaking his head.

 

* * *

 

"Why are we at Uncle Victor's?" Val asked Friday night, squinting at the mansion through the car window as Johnny rolled to a stop at the end of the driveway.

"We're having dinner with him," Johnny said. "Because we..." He'd had a lie at one point, he knew, because he'd practiced it a couple dozen times in the bathroom mirror until it was convincing enough to earn him an Oscar. Nothing less would get past Valeria. Too bad he was blanking under her intense glare. "We. Don't want him to die alone surrounded by cats?"

"He gave you the money for Haven," Val surmised immediately. Johnny groaned, crossing his arms on top of the steering wheel and putting his head down on them.

"Just once, Val, could you let me have some dignity?" he asked.

"Sorry," she said, obviously not sorry at all. "But it was obvious. I _was_ wondering where you'd gotten it from - but I never thought you'd go to Uncle Victor. And we have to have dinner with him? Just dinner?"

He thought she'd sound pleased; she shared none of his issues where Victor was concerned. Instead, she seemed a little distressed.

"Just dinner," he said. He sighed. "Every Friday night."

She grabbed him by the sleeve, tugging until he looked up.

"Call it off," she said, wide-eyed.

"What?" he laughed. "Val, c'mon. It's just dinner. You like Uncle Vic."

She made a frustrated noise. "It's not just dinner! And you _hate_ Uncle Victor -"

"Hate is a strong word," Johnny said. "Vic and I just both want to set each other on fire. It's mutual. It works for us."

"And you've signed yourself up to have dinner with him, _every Friday_?" Valeria said. She looked a little green. "No. No, you can't. Call it off."

"You need to go to that school, kiddo," Johnny sighed, tugging on a lock of her hair. "And I can't pay for it. Victor can. He's happy to. All he wants to do is have dinner with us on Fridays." For the rest of their miserable lives, he didn't add.

"I don't need that school," Val said. Johnny burst out laughing and she scowled, crossing her arms. "I don't! I can - I can stay where I am."

"Val, no," Johnny said, shoulders still shaking with laughter. "I'm cringing every time the phone rings as it is."

"Or I can teach myself!" Val said. "The internet exists! I can direct my own education. That's probably the best plan. I can cut out the extras and supplement more useful coursework instead."

"The extras?" Johnny asked, unable to help himself.

"Gym," Val muttered darkly. Johnny started snickering again.

"It's not my fault you inherited your dad's noodle arms," he said, then forced himself to sober up. He took her by the shoulders, leaning across the parking brake so he could look her in the eyes. "Valeria Richards, you don't need that school."

She huffed a sigh. "Good, so let's go -"

"You want it, though," Johnny said, softly, and watched as her gaze dropped, as she fidgeted with a loose thread in her skirt. "Val. Sweetheart. I'm not a genius like your dad. I'm not clever like your mom. I can't even punch my way out of every situation like your Uncle Ben."

She snorted, sounding suspiciously watery.

"But I can sit awkwardly across the table from Victor von Doom and pretend I can't see the maid signaling SOS from the kitchen," he said. "So let me do that for you, okay?"

"Okay," she said. Her eyes were watery, but her voice was steady. Johnny was so incredibly proud of everything she was, the best, most stubborn and brilliant parts of Reed and Sue mixed into one tiny diabolical girl.

"Okay," he confirmed, brushing her bangs back from her forehead before he pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Let's go give him hell."

 

* * *

 

Giving Victor hell mostly involved sitting silently at the table, stabbing at his plate while Victor and Val talked about - Johnny didn't know. He'd tuned out five minutes in. He watched them, Val's keen face and Victor's heavy gaze, full of pride, and thought - this was how it could have been.

He tried to imagine a Val brought up here, maybe not smarter - Val's intelligence was hers alone, a gift from Reed, and Johnny knew deep in his bones that nothing he did could have made a dent - but more learned. A Val who had lived twelve years with all of Victor's considerable resources at her fingertips, and not the kid who'd beaten her dumb uncle at chess the second time she'd ever touched a board. A calm, collected, regal Valeria, not his scrappy, sarcastic niece.

Most of the time he thought Sue would have approved of what he did. He wanted to keep believing that. His fork scraped across his plate as he pushed his chair back.

"Uncle Johnny?" Val said, tentative, like she was wondering if she should follow him. He flapped a hand at her, trying his best for an _everything's fine, kiddo_ kind of smile, the kind of thing that had stopped working by the time she'd turned eight.

"Bathroom," he said. "No worries, Vic, I remember the way."

Inside the bathroom he splashed cold water on his face, breathing deep. He could do this. This was fine. Everything was normal. He could stand in this house where Reed had accidentally ripped apart the fabric of the universe and disappeared with almost everyone Johnny had ever loved - where he'd been left alone with a three-year-old and Victor von Doom of all people. No big deal.

He chanced one look in the ornate mirror, meeting his reflection's eyes, and then he headed back to the dining room.

The dining room where now only Victor sat, staring at his dinner as if it had dared to insult him.

"Where's Val?" Johnny asked.

"She has her father's intellect and her mother's temper," Victor said, touching the corner of his mouth neatly with his napkin.

"Victor," Johnny said, standing over him. "Where. Is. Val."

"We had an argument," Victor said, eyes narrowed. "It seems she disapproves of my tactics. She's very dramatic."

"Well, she's fifteen, so, yeah," Johnny said. "You couldn't have waited two minutes for me to referee?"

"I believe she was waiting for an opportunity to defend you without your knowledge," Victor said. "She headed towards the library." He examined his wineglass. "I thought it best to allow her a moment to collect her temper."

"Yeah, she's not gonna do that," Johnny said. "You said it: she's got Reed's smarts and Sue's temper, but she's got your righteousness."

Victor looked up at him as if he were unsure whether to be flattered or insulted. Johnny rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"I'm going to go find her," he said. "Try and stay out of the line of fire."

Victor, of course, took that to mean he should come with. Johnny shot him one last warning look over his shoulder before he slipped into the library, searching for a flash of blonde ponytail and teenage angst.

Even as a baby, the library had been Val's favorite place in Victor's huge house. Johnny had spent so many hours in this room, stretched out napping in warm sunlight. It felt like nothing about it had changed.

He found Valeria standing before a portrait of a beautiful dark-haired woman. Val's head was tipped back, her mouth a serious line.

"Who is she?" she asked.

Victor stepped up on Val's other side, his gaze sweeping over the painting with worn familiarity and something deeper underneath. "Your namesake. My beloved Valeria."

"She was very pretty," Val said.

Victor settled his hand on her back. They stood there for a long moment, the three of them, until Val hooked her hand into Victor's elbow.

"Dessert will be served in a few moments," Victor said, and together they walked from the room.

"It's just Friday nights," Johnny told her after dinner as they sat in the car. "I get to do this for you."

Val put her head down against the window and said, "Okay."

 

* * *

 

"Okay, I'm just going to say it," Johnny said, head in his hands at their usual table by the windows at May's Diner. "Who knew Victor celebrated Thanksgiving?"

"I knew," Val said, stirring another spoonful of sugar into her coffee. When she took her hand away her spoon stood up straight in it. Johnny felt that he should probably do the responsible adult thing and put the sugar on another table, but he still needed it.

"You didn't think you should tell me?" Johnny said. "Hey, Uncle Johnny, heads up, Vic's going to want us to come over and hold hands and be thankful nobody's found his torture dungeon?"

"Should I be hearing this?" Val asked, nose wrinkled.

"Whatever it is, no," Peter interrupted, setting their breakfast down in front of them. "You definitely should not. What's wrong with him?"

"Thanksgiving," Val said around half a waffle.

"What's wrong with Thanksgiving?" Peter asked.

Val ticked off on her fingers. "Wyatt and Jennifer, Laura's place, Uncle Vic's..."

"And you," Johnny finished, looking up. "Pete, I think we're going to miss Thanksgiving."

There was a pause, and then Peter shrugged. "Alright."

Johnny narrowed his eyes. "Alright?"

"If you can't make it, you can't make it," Peter said. "It's two less turkey dinners I have to make."

"That's it?" Johnny said. "Just, cancel our orders, no questions asked, no _I can't live without you_ s?"

"I could probably live without you," Peter said. "Diner finances would take a hit, but we'd soldier on. I'd miss Val, obviously. Do you want me to ask why?"

"Yes!"

"Why aren't you coming to our yearly Thanksgiving dinner, Johnny?" Peter asked, sighing. There was flour dusted all down his apron and fingerprint smudges on his glasses. He smelled like cheap breakfast syrup. Something about Peter in autumn made Johnny feel like everything was going to be alright.

"Uncle Victor has requested our presence," Valeria told him.

"And you're telling me the two of you refuse to mooch a second dinner?" Peter said, eyebrows raised.

"Fourth," Val said.

"Fourth?" Peter repeated.

"Fourth," Val said. "There's Laura's house in the morning, then Wyatt and Jennifer, then Uncle Victor..."

"Where our heads will end up on pikes because we'll be too full to pretend to like traditional Latverian goulash," Johnny said. "Sorry, Pete."

"Well, like I said," Peter shrugged. "No skin off my nose. May will be disappointed, though."

Johnny and Val exchanged a long, long look, and then Val put her head down on the table with a groan. Johnny grinned at Peter.

"We'll see you on Thanksgiving," he said.

"Four dinners," she said, waving four fingers in the air.

"Please don't eat four dinners," Peter said. "Johnny, c'mon. Think of the child. Think of me."

"We're not doing it for you, you don't care," Johnny said. "We're coming to see May."

"And wheatcakes," Val told the tabletop.

"If you keel over in my diner I'll never forgive you," Peter said, but he was fighting a smile as he walked away.

"Four Thanksgivings," Val said, drawing shapes in her maple syrup. "We're gonna die."

"As the prophecy foretold," Johnny agreed, holding out his knuckles the way they used to do when Val was a little kid. She huffed, wearing half a smile as she knocked her hand against his.

 

* * *

 

Thanksgiving dawned bright and blustery. The sign for Howlett's Antiques, their first stop, swung ominously in the late November wind. Johnny stuck his hands in his pockets and asked, "How come nobody who lives here has the same last name?"

Val elbowed him. "One hour, Uncle Johnny!"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, yanking lightly on her ponytail. "Onwards."

Logan, owner of Howlett's Antiques, didn't like him. Maybe it was the disastrous relationship Johnny had had with his son Daken, a whirlwind six months that had ended in literal fire and blood. Maybe it was the fact that Johnny was letting his daughter Laura and foster daughter Jubilee's secret rock band practice in his garage. Maybe it was that he'd never paid for that lamp he'd broken.

Either way, facts were facts: Logan did not like him. In spite of that, every year Johnny ended up crowded into the front room of Howlett's Antiques to pick at turkey, turkey, and more turkey, and something that looked like it had been a large deer before Logan had gotten his bare hands on it.

"No cranberry sauce this year?" he asked when the awkward silence refused to get any less awkward.

"I'm Canadian, bub," Logan said, like that explained anything. He tipped his hat down, jaw set. "I only throw this shindig because it makes the girls happy."

Laura's expression was not one of happiness. Laura's expression wasn't one of anything at all. Jubilee, meanwhile, looked the same as she ever did: like a teenage girl-shaped firework. Sometimes Johnny questioned Val's taste in friends.

"So," he said, inspecting a chair with bears carved into the back. "How's Daken?"

A muscle in Logan's jaw jumped. "You really want to ask that question?"

Johnny thought about it. "Nah."

"That's what I thought," Logan said, touching the brim of his hat. "Have another beer."

Johnny had several beers.

"Just let me lean on you a little," he said to Val, draping his arm over her shoulders. Val grabbed him by the wrist, glowering up at him.

"Did you get drunk just so we couldn't go to Uncle Vic's?" she asked as they made their way to Wyatt and Jen's house.

"What? Who would do that?" Johnny said. "Although I should in no way be driving you. Call him and tell him that. Wyatt!"

Wyatt was sitting out in the middle of his crowded front yard, watching with trepidation as Jen and her cousin Bruce dragged something out on the porch. Johnny threw himself down next to him, reaching for his half-finished drink. Val gave him a pointed look as she dug out her cell phone.

"You look like you've been having a good day," Wyatt said.

"Logan's place," Johnny explained. "There was a dead bear making eyes at me. I was drinking to forget."

"Well don't stop now," Wyatt said. "Jen bought a deep fat fryer."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. "This is my absolute favorite holiday."

"She's going to kill us all," Wyatt said, fond and resolved with his chin resting on his knuckles.

"He's sending a car," Val said, sitting down next to them. Her pointy knee knocked into Johnny's. She still had the phone pressed to her ear. "Can I have some of this?"

"No," Johnny said, hand over the drink. "What?"

"Uncle Victor is sending a car to pick us up," Val said.

Johnny turned to look at Wyatt. "Do you see what I deal with?"

"She has a law degree," Wyatt said, squinting at Jen and Bruce. "He's a scientist. There's no way they didn't read the instructions, right?"

Val nudged Johnny again, her hand over the receiver. "He wants to know _where_ to send the car."

Johnny chanced one more look at Jen, holding a turkey aloft. A gaggle of townsfolk cheered. Bruce looked slightly green.

"Tell him to look for the house that's on fire," he said.

The maid let them at Victor's half an hour later, all three of them slightly singed. Johnny didn't really want to know the circumstances behind her harried face.

"Godspeed," Johnny told her, saluting, as she led them through the foyer, into the house proper. It was tastefully decorated, all nondescript holiday season, nothing like twelve years ago when he and Ben and Sue had had full run of the place while Victor and Reed worked. It was strange, being back at Victor's for Thanksgiving.

He wondered if Val remembered. He almost hoped she didn't.

"Valeria," Victor greeted, and then, slightly less warmly, "Jonathan. Let me introduce you..."

Johnny spent the next hour nursing a drink while Victor showed Valeria off to his small party of geniuses and admirers. He didn't doubt that Victor loved Val - she was his godchild, a title he seemed to view as the most sacred oath. Maybe because the word had "god" in it, and Victor had never been humble. So, no, he knew Victor loved Val. But Victor's love was a stifling, controlling thing, heavy in a way that felt like a cage. Maybe Val would have flourished under it, here in this giant crypt of a house with someone who could actually match her wits, but Johnny hadn't been able to bear it. He hadn't been able to leave Sue's only daughter - his only niece - behind, either.

Maybe that made him the selfish one. He couldn't bring himself to regret it.

After dinner he slipped away, just for a few minutes, to let himself wander the halls. There was the spot where Reed had dropped the mashed potatoes. There, where Ben had tried to talk to Victor about football. In the foyer, he and Sue making one mad Thanksgiving eve dash out the store in the middle of a snowstorm because they'd forgotten cranberries.

It was a favorite memory he hadn't let himself think about in a while - the bustle of the kitchen, Ben's goodhearted grumbling to stay the hell out of his way, Victor mixing drinks until Johnny's head spun. He remembered Reed had split his time wrangling the kids and leafing through Victor's record collection. All of Victor's music had seemed so sophisticated and Johnny had felt like a dumb kid, but for once he hadn't minded. Everything else around him had been too perfect.

Leaning in the kitchen doorway, he could almost see it: standing elbow to elbow with Sue at the cutting board, jostling each other for space. He'd always been the better cook and she'd never wanted to admit it. Two steps in and he swore he could hear her humming, soft and off key.

"Mister Storm?" one of the cooks said, obviously unused to having anyone in her space. Johnny wondered, suddenly, if Victor had even set foot in the kitchen since Reed and Sue had disappeared.

"It's nothing," he said. "Never mind. Hey, dinner was great."

He had to turn away, go back down the hall. Valeria wasn't at the table, though, and she wasn't with Victor's entourage.

He found her hunkered down on the front steps. She wasn't wearing her coat. Johnny dumped his own over her narrow shoulders, folding himself down next to her. He waited her out, and after a minute she talked.

"I remembered Uncle Ben used to make the turkey," she sniffed.

"Aunt Petunia's special brine," Johnny confirmed, smiling. "I think it was mostly salt."

"Yeah," Val said, voice thick. She didn't cry, but she did press the heel of her hand up against her eyes, just for a second. Johnny sighed, leaning their heads together, his arm around her shoulders.

"May's?" he said after a moment.

"May's," Val confirmed.

It was snowing when they arrived, just a soft dusting, and Peter met them at the door. He bustled Val in out of the cold, flicking snowflakes from her hair while she grinned at him. He looked like he was about to start in on them, but one look at Johnny over the top of Val's head and whatever he was going to say died on his lips.

"May's here," he said instead, pushing Val towards their usual table at the back. Johnny was so thankful for him. "We were waiting for you."

"You shouldn't have," Johnny said. He slung his arm around Peter's shoulders, just for a minute, letting himself soak up his warmth, the apple pie smell of him.

"I didn't want to," Peter said. "May made me."

"It's polite," May said, standing from the table so she could hug Val first, then Johnny. He embraced her back, smiling. Things were still okay, he told himself. There were still good things left: Val and the Parkers and Wyatt and Jen.

"Hey," Peter said in an undertone as they sat down, smiling as May asked Val a hundred questions about school, her friends, her life. "I'm glad you made it."

Johnny bit back a grin. "Wouldn't have missed it for the world."

 

* * *

 

Crystal blew into town two weeks before Christmas. Johnny opened the door one morning and there she was, leaning up against a shiny new car with an expensive pair of sunglasses on her face and his old beaten up leather jacket slung over her shoulders.

Johnny laughed out loud, racing down the steps and lifting her off her feet. She screamed with delight, clutching him as he spun her around.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked as he set her down. She'd cut her hair; last time he'd seen her it had hung halfway down her back, and now it was shorn into a pixie cut. She fiddled with it, shrugging carelessly. His jacket looked good on her. It had always looked good on her, so good he hadn't been able to bring himself to be angry when he'd discovered it gone the night after she'd taken off.

"Do I need a reason to see you, Johnny?" she asked.

"Never," he said, grinning. The first sight of Crystal always made him feel like there was nothing but pure sunlight in his veins. Suddenly everything was better and brighter.

"Good," she said, beaming. "Because I'm actually not here for you."

There was a high-pitched shriek from behind him and Val came racing out of the house, throwing herself at Crystal. Crystal caught her, winding her arms around Val's narrow shoulders and grinning into her hair. "There's my girl!"

Val laughed, hugging her tight. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to see you, of course," Crystal said, throwing a wink in Johnny's direction. "I heard it was almost your birthday."

Val squinted at her. "My birthday was four months ago."

"Half-birthday," Crystal recovered smoothly. She produced a huge pile of books from the backseat of her car and was forgiven instantly. Johnny couldn't blame Val for that - Crystal did the same thing to him, again and again. He didn't blame Crystal, either. It was just the way she was.

He was still smiling at her, he realized, when she looked up at him.

"What?" she said, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"Nothing," he said. "Just - hi, Crys."

She smiled back, bright as sunshine. "Hi, Johnny."

They ended up wandering around town all day, taking Crystal back to her favorite haunts: the bookstore, Rogers's Market, the pavilion in the park where they ate lunch and watched Sam Wilson try and corral his afternoon mixed martial arts class.

It felt right, like old times. Almost like Crystal had never left.

"I love this town," she said as evening approached, one of her arms linked through Johnny's and the other through Val's. "Nothing ever changes here, does it?"

"We got a new stop sign put in at the end of the block," Val said, sounding mildly offended.

"Right," Johnny confirmed, grinning at Crystal. "And Clint Barton started this great new service where you can get him to fire a suction cup arrow with a love letter wrapped around it at your paramour. It's how the Romanoff-Barneses made up. He just put up his Valentine's sale."

"How many arrow letters did you buy?" Crystal asked him, raising her eyebrows.

"Telling would ruin the chaos," he told her, winking.

"I bought ten," Val said as they climbed up the steps to May's Diner.

"Forgive me," Crystal said, laughing. "Clearly everything has changed."

"Yeah, that stop sign is pretty important," Johnny said, holding the door open for her.

They'd barely stepped in the door when Laura and Jubilation Lee rushed Valeria, a whirlwind of band tour shirts older than the two of them put together.

"It's an emergency!" Jubilee shouted, waving her hands.

"It's the band," Laura said, much more evenly.

"It's _Logan_!" Jubilee wailed, shaking Val by the shoulders. Laura seconded the statement with a placid nod. Val shot Johnny an alarmed look. He sighed and waved her off.

"Go, fix," he said. "I'll order you a burger."

Val beamed, throwing her arms around his neck in a loose hug before she took off with her friends. Johnny rolled his eyes, smiling, and headed towards their usual table. He caught Peter's eye and gestured at him for two coffees. Peter made a face, but grabbed the coffee pot anyway.

Crystal watched through the window as Val and her friends dashed down the street, her pointy chin propped up on her palm.

"She looks so much like Sue," she said.

"Yeah," Johnny agreed. "And then she opens her mouth and it's Reed through and through."

"She's so grown up," she said. "When did that happen?"

"Sometime between when you ditched us and now," Johnny said, then immediately felt terrible when Crystal's face fell. "Crys, I didn't mean it like -"

"Yeah, you did. It's okay," Crystal said. Frowning had never suited her; it always looked a little ridiculous, like a puppy trying to look serious. She was drawing something on the tabletop with her index finger. "Do you ever wonder what would've happened if I had stayed?"

"I would've married you," Johnny said, no hesitation. Crystal's frown melted away into something soft and fond. She reached across the table and covered Johnny's hand with both her small ones.

"Yeah," she said. "I know. So it's a good thing I left, right?"

"Maybe," he said. "Sometimes I'm not so sure."

Crystal looked at him, her head tilted, and for a second Johnny thought they would kiss. He wanted it, to kiss her again. He leaned in and she followed, her nose brushing his. He could almost taste the fake strawberry flavor of her favorite lipgloss. He raised a hand to her soft cheek.

Then she pulled back abruptly, her hand between them, her fingers on his lips.

"Johnny, wait. Wait," Crystal said. "I'm seeing someone."

He stilled. He dropped his hand and leaned back in his seat.

"Wow," he said.

"I came here to tell you," she said, biting her lip. Then all of a sudden she drew herself up, shoulders squared, gaze steady. "I'm getting married next month."

Johnny froze. It took a moment for the words to sink in, for him to really get it - Crystal, getting married. Crystal marrying someone who wasn't him.

"To _who_?" he said.

"You don't know him," Crystal said. "His name's Pietro. I met him through work."

"So, you, what," Johnny said, staring at her in disbelief. "You're doing the tour one last time? Making sure you picked the right one?"

"Don't be a jackass," she said. "I came to ask Val to be my bridesmaid."

"And you didn't think you should lead with that?" Johnny said, throwing his hands up. "What the hell, Crys?"

"I didn't think you would be this way about it, I didn't think you would - god, Johnny, it's been three years," she said.

"I know exactly how long it's been," he said. "But this is how it's always been, Crys, you show up, you're wearing my jacket, you bring Val stuff, and it's - it's good!" Until she took off again, he didn't say. "Why would I assume it's different this time?"

She pressed her lips together and met his eyes. "I really like him, Johnny. I don't know why it's different this time. It just is. I didn't come here to hurt you."

"Well, great," he said, shaking his head. "That's just great. This isn't fair, Crys. You blow in and out of my life - whatever. But that's not fair to Val. "

There was a long, quiet moment.

"I think I should go," she said softly.

"No," he said, the anger fading. He felt tired in its wake. "Crystal, don't. Valeria -"

"Val can call me," she said, standing. "I do want her there, Johnny." Her face softened, just for a second. "I want you there, too."

Then she was gone, stepping out of the diner and onto the street, the bell ringing in her wake. She'd left his jacket lying on the back of the chair.

Johnny let out a long, low breath, aware of all the eyes in the diner pointedly not looking in his direction, and the one pair that was - Peter, wearing a crooked frown, two cups of coffee lying on the counter.

Johnny got up and left the jacket where it was, ambling up to him.

"Alright?" Peter said, big brown eyes soft.

"How much did you hear?" Johnny asked.

"Me? Almost nothing," Peter said, shrugging. "Anna Watson sitting right behind you livetexting my aunt, on the other hand?"

Johnny groaned. "How does this happen to me? Every time?" When Peter didn't reply, he said, "I really thought she was back for us this time. And she wasn't. Not the way I wanted her to be."

Peter made a soft noise.

"What?" Johnny said, staring at him. Seeing Peter stand so still and look at him so sympathetically did nothing to help his mood. "Nothing funny to say?"

"I can try, if it'll make you feel better, but you know we'll just both end up thinking I'm a jerk," Peter said. "I'm sorry, Johnny."

Johnny tilted his head back, sighing. "Yeah, me too."

"Hey, free refills," Peter said. "As long as you want them."

"You're going to regret that. I think I'm going to wait for Val here," he said. "If that's okay."

"I've never kicked you out before, have I?" Peter said. For one second he looked like he wanted to say something else, and then he just shook his head. He left a full coffee pot near Johnny's elbow, palming his shoulder briefly.

"Thanks, Pete," Johnny said.

"Anytime," Peter said.

Johnny was on his second cup by the time Val tramped back into the diner, covered in a mysterious amount of glitter with what looked like purple hair dye on her shirt. Her face fell as she looked around, catching sight of the jacket on Crystal's abandoned chair.

"Johnny?" she said, coming to sit next to him at the counter.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, slinging an arm over her shoulders. "About Crys..."

 

* * *

 

The annual dance marathon was upon them before Johnny knew it, and so like geese returning to Canada he found himself cornering Peter at the diner, batting his eyelashes and begging for all he was worth.

"Over my dead body," Peter said before Johnny so much as had a chance to open his mouth.

"I can work with it," Johnny said. "Weekend at Bernie's II: Electric Boogaloo."

"There was a Weekend at Bernie's II," Peter said, sounding bored. "You're slipping."

"Movin' Like Bernie!" Johnny said, snapping his fingers.

Peter snorted. "How many times do I have to say it? I'm not doing this again, Johnny. I still haven't recovered from last year."

Johnny had no choice: he flopped backwards down across the counter, staring up at Peter pleadingly. "I will not move from this spot until you say yes. You know me. You know how serious I am."

"I'll work around you," Peter said, stretching past him to hand Jen her coffee. She didn't so much as bat an eyelash and, because he adored her, he waited patiently until she and her coffee were out of the way before he reached out and poked Peter in his surprisingly well-muscled and very ticklish stomach. Peter yelped, recoiling. He made a face like a wet cat in Johnny's direction.

"I'm holding hot coffee, Johnny, Jesus," he said, keeping careful distance. "Why can't Val do it? You always say, next year it's going to be Val! Uncle-niece bonding!"

"She said no," Johnny said, shrugging.

"I have weak ankles!" Val called from their usual table, where she was busy reading.

"It's true," Johnny said. "If I put her in heels she'd topple like a fallen race horse. I blame Reed."

"How come when she says no, you let it go?" Peter asked.

"Because she can call child services on me," Johnny said. Oozing adoration, he added, "And I have _you_. You love me, Peter, don't you?"

"If I tell you no will you go away?" Peter asked.

"How many years have we been doing this, Peter?" he asked, ignoring him. "Tell me how many."

"Four," Peter said grudgingly. "Four horrible years."

"We were so close last year," Johnny said. "We were a hair's breadth away from that big, beautiful trophy."

"Please don't tell me the story," Peter said. "I know the story. I was there. It's burned into my memory for all time, just like all the other times before it."

"It was the twenty-third hour," Johnny continued. "You, my delicate flower, were wilting. I was a stallion, like always."

"How many people heard me say I know the story?" Peter demanded. A show of hands went up, including Val's. "Johnny. I am begging you."

"One last hurrah, Peter," Johnny said, switching tactics. "We can do this. I'm telling you, we can win this thing. Don't let Kurt Wagner win again, Peter. Don't let him spend another week singing the opera of his people."

Peter wavered, visibly caught between his hatred for the dance marathon and his hatred for Kurt Wagner's celebratory warbling of Der Ring des Nibelungen.

"Could you please just agree already?" Val asked, finally looking up. "We all know you're going to, and I need him to drive me to Bentley's house so we can work on the 75th anniversary edition of the Haven Times."

"Okay," Peter said, defeated. "Okay. Two conditions."

"Anything," Johnny said ardently. "I'll even let you have the trophy on the weekends. Joint custody, baby."

"First, get off my counter," Peter said. "And second, this year I get to lead. Third? Never say that to me again."

 

* * *

 

Peter met him outside, so early that it was still dark, and together they made their way to the makeshift dance hall Steve Rogers had created near singlehandedly out of the high school gymnasium. Val stumbled sleepily between them, her eyes closed, Peter's hand on her back because every year he worried she'd trip her way into nonexistent 5 AM traffic. Every year, Johnny couldn't stop staring at him.

"Something on my face?" Peter asked, catching him looking.

"I only get to see you out of plaid one day a year," Johnny said. "I treasure these moments."

Peter rolled his eyes and Val made a sleepy noise of disgust, but the truth was, Johnny really did. Every year on this short cold walk it felt like it was just him and Peter and Val, the only people in the world. It felt like anything could happen.

And besides, Peter did truly look good, old-fashioned coat highlighting his wiry, dependable shoulders. Johnny knew from experience that when he took it off he'd be wearing a crisp white shirt. Peter had his hair pushed back in some semblance of a style, but a few stubborn locks curled over his forehead.

By hour six he'd be sweaty and disheveled and amazing. By hour ten he'd be so consumed with over the top competitiveness that Johnny's heart would grow three sizes. He couldn't wait.

"If you keep staring, I'm going to assume you're lying and there really is something on my face," Peter said. "And you're just waiting for everyone to get pictures of it."

"He just likes your face," Val murmured, head tipping forward to meet Peter's arm. Peter startled and Johnny's heart jumped into his throat, his stomach sinking.

"She's asleep," he said, too quickly. "She's thinking of someone else's face."

"Right," Peter said, rolling his eyes. "Right, of course - Val! Val, crosswalk!"

Wyatt and Jen were there and waiting by the time they arrived. Jen was beautiful in her purple dress, her hair done up in flawless rolls. Wyatt looked like a classic movie star in his white jacket with his dark hair slicked back.

"Oh no," Wyatt said sympathetically, catching sight of Peter. "He won you over."

"I'm cursed," Peter said. "It's the only explanation."

"You know me, Wingfoot," Johnny said, curling his arm around Peter's shoulders and tugging him tight against his side. "I always get my man."

"I want you in prison," Peter said without any real heat, elbowing him. "I'm going to go find us a good spot on the floor."

"I'll go with you," Jen said, tugging her hand from Wyatt's. She winked at him, sashaying off and nodding occasionally at whatever Peter was ranting about. How Johnny was the worst, probably. He felt all warm and fuzzy inside. The annual dance marathon really did bring out the best in everyone.

"Someone looks bright-eyed and bushy-tailed," Wyatt said to Val. She glared at him blearily, hissing when Johnny threw his coat over her head.

"Hold that for me, would you?" he grinned. She shot him a nasty look, pulling it around her like a blanket cape.

"When I take over the planet, I'm banning dance marathons and I'm sending you to an island," she said, swallowing a yawn. "I'm going to go find an empty stretch of bench and I'm going back to bed."

"Hey," Johnny said to Val, tugging her in for a quick hug. "Wish me luck?"

"Break a leg," Val mumbled. "Preferably soon so we can leave."

"No promises," Johnny told her, shooing her off.

Steve had stepped up to the podium, megaphone under his arm. Sam, a few steps behind him, was already rolling his eyes.

Wyatt nudged Johnny and said, "Here we go again."

"Welcome, townsfolk," Steve said, beaming his all American dreamboat smile out across the dance floor, like he wasn't about to rule over 24 hours of nonstop terror with an iron fist. Johnny was in awe of him, frankly. "The rules haven't changed - any couple without a number will be disqualified. All couples must be touching at all times. All couples must remain moving at all times."

"You're a sick man, Steve Rogers," Sam told him fondly, leaning over just far enough for the whole gymnasium to hear.

"The only time you may stop moving or stop touching," Steve said, giving Sam no acknowledgement except for the tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth, "is when you hear this horn."

The horn went off, piercing. Val, busy making herself a nest out of coats, sent Steve a murderous look. At least Johnny would have good looking company during his island banishment.

"That sound means you have ten minutes! Ten minutes to get a drink, eat a snack or take a rest - whatever it is you can do in ten minutes. You have also been issued yellow emergency cards. Alright, people - lace those shoes, pin those curls. You know what to do."

"The same thing we do every year, Pinky," Sam said, grinning. "Try to kill the whole town."

Steve's megaphone clicked off and there was a moment of anticipation. Peter's long callused fingers tangled with Johnny's, hands pressed palm to tingling palm.

The music kicked up. Peter squeezed Johnny's hands once in warning and then, just like always, he sprang into motion, pushing Johnny away and then pulling him back to the beat of the song. Johnny laughed out loud and Peter grinned back at him, spinning Johnny easily around.

"See?" Johnny called to him over the music. "You love this."

"I don't hate it," Peter said, reeling him back in. "But I'll never admit that off this floor."

"I know the truth and that's what really counts," Johnny said, smiling so hard it hurt.

The first two hours passed easily. They'd learned the hard way their first year in the competition not to start off too strong, so they kept it light and easy, letting the music lead them around the floor.

"Look at Kurt and Kitty," Peter said, whistling.

"Beautiful circus freaks," Johnny agreed, watching as Kurt dipped Kitty so low her ponytail brushed the floor. "I hate them."

"Agreed," Peter said, whirling Johnny around. Kurt waved to them cheerily, then hoisted Kitty up into the air and twirled her around in a dizzying circle. "Hey, let me throw you."

"Not happening," Johnny said, pulling Peter in close. There was something so easy about their closeness, the push and pull of their steps as they made their way across the floor. Johnny knew a few hours from now they'd be exhausted, swaying propped up on each other just to stay on their feet, but right now every touch was electric.

"Okay, then you throw me," Peter said, already dragging Johnny's hands down to his waist. Johnny gripped his lean hips obediently but only tugged him in close, fingers caught in his belt loops.

"No," he said. "We're not having a repeat of the first year. You moaning on the floor with an ice pack under you. Not a pretty sight, Mr. Parker."

"Wasn't that you?" Peter said, but he relaxed against Johnny as the song switched to something slower. Johnny let himself fall into it, swaying in time with Peter.

"Details," he said serenely.

They lost, of course. Johnny knew he'd feel differently after he passed out for sixteen hours, but in the moment it almost didn't matter. Lying prone on the ground, half-collapsed over Peter and so tired he ached with it, there was no place he'd rather be.

"I hear German opera," Peter mumbled, his eyes closed.

Alright, so maybe there were a few places. "Shhhh. Just ignore it."

Peter's fingers twitched, reaching out to take Johnny's hand.

"Next year," he said. "Next year we crush him."

"Next year," Val said, crouched down next to them, "I'm moving."

 

* * *

 

If he could pick one word for the fight he and Val had as February rounded the corner, it would be _apocalyptic._

There'd been yelling, sure, that was fine, they'd done that before, but somehow this time it had just escalated, tempers climbing higher and higher until Johnny's throat was hoarse and Val's face was flushed an angry red and the Romanoff-Barneses next door were watching from their window with a pair of shared binoculars.

Val threw a dictionary. It landed a sad five feet away and far to the left of him, but that wasn't the point.

The next thing he knew he was throwing the door open and heading down the steps.

"Where are you going?" Val yelled after him. Framed in the yellow hallway light, she looked a lot less like Sue at that age and more like him, stupid and impulsive.

"I don't know!" he said, trying to remember how Sue had dealt with him. Not that it mattered, because Johnny had never listened to Sue when he was a kid no matter what she tried. He'd done his best Val's entire life to make sure she didn't turn out like him because if she was even a fraction less lucky than he'd been at sixteen, then - he couldn't entertain the thought.

"When are you coming back?" she demanded.

"I don't know!" he said.

She inhaled sharply, all righteous fury, and then she stomped back inside and slammed the door.

Something about the cold air always managed to leech the anger from Johnny's bones. He'd been seething when he left the house, feeling like he was on fire with it, but half an hour wandering around town in the middle night and the anger was gone. By the time he got to May's Diner all he felt was numb.

He'd shouted at Val. Sue's only daughter. His only niece. And about what? Some overnight trip with Laura and Jubilee and their band? Their band with boys? He'd done so much worse when he was her age, without asking for permission first. She was smart and capable and all her decisions were better than his.

He slid his hands up over his eyes, into his hair. His throat felt tight. His eyes felt hot. It was so late and the street was empty, the closed sign hanging on Peter's door, so he let his shoulders shake silently, biting at his lip.

"God, Sue, I'm sorry," he said to a street lamp. "I'm such a screw up."

He knew what Sue would say to that, though. He could almost feel her cool hand on the back of his neck as she put her head down against his and said, _so you'll do better next time._

It was nice to pretend.

A bell jingled. Johnny looked up as Peter stepped outside.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, staring down at him in confusion. Johnny looked at him, really looked at him - the worry crease between his eyebrows and the slightly crooked nose he refused to tell Johnny the story behind, his chapped knuckles and worn old shirts - and his chest went tight all over again.

"Honestly?" he laughed. It was a little difficult with his teeth chattering. He wished he'd remembered to grab a jacket while he was shouting at Val. "I have no idea."

Peter sighed and sat down next to Johnny, knees and elbows bumping on the narrow steps. His breath curled upwards, white smoke in the cool air, and the nearby street lamp threw strange shadows across his face. He had a couple days worth of stubble across his jaw.

Johnny's fingertips tingled; he blew on them, saying, "I knew I should've brought gloves."

"My aunt says you'd forget your own head if it wasn't attached to your shoulders," Peter said. He got up without another word, disappearing into the diner, and when he came back he was holding a pair of battered old gloves. "Here."

The gloves were warm from the heat of the diner. Johnny pulled them on and shoved his hands under his arms.

"Val and I had a fight," he admitted.

"I'm not surprised," Peter said. "What happened?"

Johnny told him. Peter listened to the whole story, nodding occasionally, the line of his arm pressed against Johnny's a comforting warmth.

"Well," he said when Johnny finished, "obviously she can't go."

" _Thank you_ ," Johnny said, throwing his hands up.

"But you probably shouldn't have blown up at her," Peter said. "Just gone behind her back and told Logan about this band trip."

Johnny laughed, soft and tired. "God, why didn't I think of that one?"

"Because you're her uncle, and you love her, and I'm a thousand times smarter than you," Peter said. "Come on, get up. You don't have to go home but you can't sleep here."

"Mm," Johnny said, letting Peter pull him to his feet. "Sure."

"Also you have to go home," Peter said.

"Ugh," Johnny said. "Being an adult sucks."

"Yep," Peter said. "Come on. I'll walk you home."

They walked in silence for the most part, elbows brushing every other step, until they rounded the corner and found themselves back on Johnny's block.

"Did you do anything stupid when you were fifteen?" Johnny asked as they started up the walkway.

"Sure," Peter said. He gestured at his nose. "How do you think this happened?"

"Rescuing a cat from a tree accident? Mathlete fight?" Johnny said. Peter huffed a laugh. "It was the mathlete fight, wasn't it. I'm asking May for photos."

"What about you?" Peter said. "You must have some stupid teenage stories."

"Didn't break my nose," Johnny said. He wasn't ready to go inside just yet, so he sat down on the steps. Peter joined him after a second, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he stared up at the dark sky. "I did drive my car off the road, though."

Peter looked at him, alarmed. "You did _what_?"

"That was the grand finale," Johnny said wearily. "But the show leading up to it was pretty good, too. Do you get it now, Pete? Why I lost it? I would've hopped on that band trip in a second, and I can't have her turn out like me. She's too smart for that."

"Johnny," Peter said softly.

"I just don't know what to do," Johnny admitted, head hanging low. "How am I supposed to make sure she turns out nothing like me?"

Peter caught him by the hand, squeezing once before he let go. "Hey, look - yeah, you're stupid and reckless and I'm pretty sure you go out of your way to torture me on a daily basis solely because it amuses you, but, Johnny - you're a good person. You try so hard for her, every day. She'd be lucky to end up a little bit like you."

Johnny looked up, shocked. Peter was smiling at him, soft and easy.

"You're kidding," he said.

"Nope," Peter said. "As long as she doesn't inherit your taste in boots. Or cars. Or dates. Or takeout, or coffee, or poor, unfortunate diner owners -"

"Fuck off!" Johnny said, laughing.

"Little bit!" Peter said. "Just a little bit like you!"

"Stop," Johnny said, shaking his head.

He nudged his shoulder into Peter's and Peter tipped his head toward him, eyes soft in the winter light. The stubble was a good look on him; suddenly Johnny wanted nothing more than to feel the scratch of it against his skin. Peter was still looking at him, just looking, and his expression was so open, it would be so easy to lean in -

The door cracked open behind them, the porch light spilling warm across the old wood.

"Uncle Johnny?" Valeria said, peering around the door.

Peter fell back, out of Johnny's space, and chilly winter air filled the gap between them.

"I found him wandering around," he said to Val. "Figured I'd bring him home."

Val swallowed, nodding. Johnny climbed to his feet and held out one arm; she fell against him easily, her forehead against his chest.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"Yeah," he said. "That makes two of us." He glanced back over his shoulder to find Peter standing at the bottom of the steps, hands in his pockets like he was waiting for a polite moment to leave. "Goodnight, Pete. Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah," Peter said, waving. "Don't make a habit of it."

"Peter's not staying?" Val asked as they headed back inside.

"Why would he?" Johnny asked, swinging his arm around her shoulders and tugging her down the hall.

"Don't make me say it," Valeria said, head tipped against his arm. He squeezed her shoulder.

"Say what?" Johnny asked.

"Because you want him to," Val said, eyes closed. Johnny's heart skipped a beat. "Because you really, really like him. Because it's always better when he's around."

"Kid," he said. "Just for once, could you not be the smartest person in the room?"

 

* * *

 

Spring rang in and with it came Victor's annual garden party.

"How did this become my life?" Johnny asked, lying in bed on a Saturday morning in April while Val rustled through his closet, throwing anything vaguely appropriate in a pile at the foot of the bed. "Who does this? Who has an annual garden party? How did I fall down this rabbit hole?"

"Uncle Victor does," Val said primly, holding a shirt up to the light. "Wear this one with the blue tie. It brings out your eyes."

"Aw," Johnny said, batting his eyelashes. "I'm wearing the cowboy boots, too."

"No," Val said.

"The red ones," Johnny said. "The law can't stop me."

Val abandoned him as soon as they got to the party. Probably, Johnny thought, as revenge for the boots. It would have been fine - he'd positioned himself in prime champagne snagging territory - if Sue's most persistent ex hadn't returned from overseas.

Or possibly from the seas. Johnny remembered something about him owning a boat.

"You know, you do look a great deal like dearest Susan," Namor said, eyeing Johnny over the top of a champagne flute.

"And that is my cue," Johnny said. "I got a thing, with Victor? A dungeon thing. Yep. Gonna be over there. With Victor. Who is right over there. Right over there and mad with jealousy."

He beat a hasty retreat across the garden, sidling up to Victor and hooking a hand into the crook of his elbow.

"What do you think you're doing?" Victor asked, glancing down at Johnny's hand like it might bite him.

"Play along. I may have implied to Namor that you and I had a date in your sex dungeon," Johnny said, snagging a champagne flute off the tray of a scandalized passing waiter. "Just a heads ups."

Victor looked horrified, which Johnny thought was kind of an overreaction.

"Uncle Johnny," Val said, cutting in. She looked expectantly at Victor. "Uncle Victor and I have something we've been discussing. Something important." 

"I would like Valeria to be presented to society this year," Victor said, staring at her with pride. Johnny looked over at her, stuffing a whole cracker into her mouth in one bite, and burst out laughing.

Victor looked affronted. Val did too, but probably for other reasons.

"Uncle Victor!" she said. "The other thing!"

"Ah, yes," he said. There was an odd look of apprehension across his face. Johnny didn't think he'd ever seen Victor look like that before - unsure. He hadn't known it was possible. "Perhaps it would be best if you explained."

"Explained what?" Johnny asked, looking between them.

"We think we've figured it out," Val said, proud chin tipped up. "Uncle Victor and I. We think we know what Dad did."

Johnny froze.

"Oh," he said, very simply, and then he grabbed two new flutes of champagne from a passing waiter.

 

* * *

 

"You haven't said anything," Val said as they climbed out of the car. "It's kind of scaring me, actually. I don't think you've ever been this quiet before. Like, ever. Uncle Johnny? Say something? Please?"

"I'm thinking," Johnny said, words falling heavy like stones.

They'd figured out what Reed had done. They might be able to reverse it, Val had said. To bring them back. If there was anything left to bring back.

Johnny didn't think he'd ever been as terrified as he was in that moment. Like he was on autopilot, he climbed the steps, unlocked the door and stepped into the house, heading towards the kitchen.

"Okay?" Val said, following close on his heels. "Is that - what are you doing?"

"I don't know," he said, pulling things out of the cabinets. There wasn't a whole lot in there. Sue would have words about that. "I actually have no damn clue." He turned around, staring her down. She met his gaze with steely determination. "What if it goes wrong, Val? What if you end up like them?"

"It won't," Val said, so sure. It wasn't fair. She didn't remember that night. Reed had been just as certain nothing would go wrong. Johnny's heart ached.

"I can't lose you too, Val," Johnny said. "I can't make that gamble."

She surprised him by wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug, tighter than she'd ever hugged him before. He wrapped his arms around her too, just holding on for a long moment.

"It's not worth it, Val," he said, choking on the words. He would have given anything else to have Sue and Reed and Ben and Franklin back. Anything else but Valeria.

Then she looked up at him, bright-eyed and furious. "I can do it. Victor was there, he saw what went wrong. We can correct for it, and if there's anyone to get back then we're getting them back."

Johnny couldn't speak, he wanted it so bad.

"I'll do it anyway," she said. "With or without you. We both know there's no stopping me." She grinned. "I'm too much like you."

"Oh, goddammit," he said, hand pressed to his face. "Goddammit, Val."

"I get to do this for you," she said. "Okay? All my life, everything you've done, you've done for me. Now I get to pay you back."

"I would've settled for you being a corrupt CEO and keeping me in a life of obscene wealth," Johnny said. "God. God. Okay. I'm coming with you, though. Nothing happens to you without it happening to me, too."

"Deal," she said, squeezing him once more time. He bent his head low, just hanging on to her for as long as she'd let him.

"You're the worst niece in the world," he said into her hair.

"And you're my favorite uncle," she said.

"I gotta do one thing," he said, stepping back. "Promise me you'll wait, Val. Promise me."

She made a face like it was the hardest thing he'd ever asked her to do. It probably was. But if Johnny was risking even the slightest chance of wiping himself out of existence the way Reed and Sue had, then he had to talk to Peter first.

"Where are you going?" she asked, watching as he grabbed his jacket.

"I have to see a diner about a man," he said.

 

* * *

 

The sign at the door said CLOSED, but that had never stopped Johnny before. He tried the knob, just in case, and when he found it locked he pounded on the door with both fists, shouting Peter's name.

"What!" Peter said, finally emerging. "What, Johnny! Who died!"

"Nobody," Johnny said, pushing past him and into the diner. Peter squawked at him, told him to turn around and walk right back out, but Johnny ignored him. "Or me, maybe? About to, that is. Die. Maybe. I'm not really clear on the details of what happens if this goes wrong."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Peter demanded. "Are you on drugs?"

"I'm trying to tell you I'm in love with you," Johnny said, his voice rising above Peter's.

Peter'd had his mouth open to shout back, but he had no comeback for that. He stared at Johnny, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. Slowly, he reached behind him and closed the door.

"Say that again," he croaked.

"I'm in love with you," Johnny said. "Have been for a while, probably. I wasn't letting myself think about it too hard. I almost told you two years ago, but then you had that girlfriend, remember?"

"We broke up," Peter said. "You could have said something then."

"It never seemed right again," Johnny said. "And I was happy, just with us being... us."

Peter nodded, a jerky motion. "And now?"

"Well, Val and Victor are maybe going to wipe us off the face of the planet," Johnny said. "So. There's that."

"What?" Peter said. "Why? How? Johnny, what's actually going on?"

"Val thinks she can get them back," Johnny said, cutting him off. "Our family. She thinks she can do it, and she's the smartest person I know, and she's going to go through with it whether I like it or lock her in the attic or what. So we're going to try."

"That's," Peter said, voice breaking. "That's either amazing or insane. I can't decide. What does it have to do with you being in love with me?"

"If something goes wrong, I just," Johnny said, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the ground. "I wanted you to know, I guess. That's it. I can go now."

His face was burning. He didn't know what he'd expected, really - for Peter to sweep him off the ground and into his arms? For him to knock everything off the counter and pin Johnny down against formica? In his dreams, maybe.

"Say something," Johnny said. "Peter, come on."

Peter hands clenched on the tabletop and Johnny's heart sank.

"Yeah, okay," he said, jerking a thumb at the door. "I'm just going to..."

Two steps from the door and Peter caught him by his shirt, spinning him around. Johnny had just enough time to suck in a breath before Peter was kissing him. It was clumsy at first, a little tentative, like Peter couldn't quite believe what he was doing, and then Johnny got Peter's face between his hands.

It was perfect.

"I was thinking," Peter said. "You have to give a guy a second to _think_."

"Thinking takes you that long?" Johnny asked, breathless.

"How would you know?" Peter said. "You've never done it."

"I should not find you insulting me as hot as I do," Johnny said, breathless as Peter kissed him again.

"Ditto," Peter said against his mouth. He groped behind them and Johnny tore himself away long enough to watch as he lowered the blinds before Peter was knocking a napkin holder off a table. Johnny laughed out loud when it hit the floor with a loud clatter, grabbing Peter by the front of his shirt and pulling him in close, down against the tabletop.

"If Kurt Wagner thinks he's ruining this one for me with another late night coffee run, he's out of his mind," Peter said.

 

* * *

 

"I had this dream," Johnny confessed, lying in Peter's bed with Peter's head on his chest. He was staring up at the ceiling, his fingers in Peter's hair, sweaty and satisfyingly sore. He felt calm for the first time in forever, all his nervous energy burned off.

"If the next words out of your mouth involve whipped cream, I'm kicking you out," Peter mumbled, turning his head to press sleepy kisses to Johnny's collarbone.

"Whipped cream's a third date thing," Johnny said. "Don't interrupt me. I had this dream, once. It was stupid. The whole family went for lunch at yours and Sue was so annoyed because you and Reed wouldn't shut up about some stupid science thing and it was their anniversary or whatever."

Peter was quiet for a long moment. "Boring dream."

"Yeah," Johnny said. "Well, there were bears wearing clown costumes, too."

Peter snickered, then fell silent again. Finally he raised his head so he could look Johnny in the eyes.

"I hope I get to meet them," he said.

"Me too," Johnny said, throat tight. "I think you'd really like them. I know they'd like you."

"Yeah?" Peter said. Johnny curled his fingers in the back of Peter's messy hair and pulled him in for a lazy kiss.

"Yeah," he said. "You're good for me."

"Well, you're horrible for me, so," Peter said, grinning against Johnny's mouth. "I'm coming with you."

Johnny should have said no. It wasn't right, to ask that of Peter. But if it didn't work...

"Okay," he said, nodding. "But if things start to look weird, you run, okay?"

"Nope," Peter said.

"I'm serious," Johnny said, yanking lightly on his hair. "Peter. If things get weird, you take Val and you run for it."

Peter stared at him for a long moment, brow furrowed. "You trust me with that?"

"Yeah," Johnny said, huffing. "Of course."

"Then okay," Peter said, forehead to forehead and nose to nose in the dark. "You've got my promise."

 

* * *

 

"I knew you had a dungeon," Johnny said when they arrived at Victor's bright and early the next morning. Val kept looking between him and Peter with interest, but she had yet to ask any questions. Maybe she'd figured it all out, or maybe she was just nervous.

In the driveway she'd groped for Johnny's hand and hadn't let go since.

"It's a basement laboratory," Victor said. "You've seen it before. Don't touch that."

The last part was directed towards Peter, who pulled his hand back guiltily.

"It didn't look like this last time," Johnny said.

Victor made a disdainful noise and said, simply, " _Richards_."

Val squeezed Johnny's hand and finally let go, joining Victor by his equipment.

"Ready, my dear?" he asked her.

"As I'll ever be," she confirmed. She tossed two pairs of goggles Johnny's way. "You might want to put these on. It's going to get bright."

"If this doesn't work," Johnny said to Victor, "then Friday dinners? Off. Forever."

"If this doesn't work, then there is a not insignificant chance Valeria and I will blow up the property," Victor said.

"Huh," said Johnny. "In which case I'm out of dinners anyway. Okay, hit it."

For one moment it was like nothing had happened. Johnny's stomach sank. Then there was a noise, like one out of his dreams. He remembered it so clearly, the night Reed and Sue had disappeared. It was a rumble like the subway about to arrive, an earthquake about to hit.

Long, callused fingers found Johnny's.

"Don't forget," he said to Peter over the rush. "If something goes wrong -

"- I get Val," Peter said, squeezing Johnny's hand.

"Not in a million years!" Val's voice came from the center of the room.

Everything went blue, then white. Johnny sucked in a harsh breath.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later found him under the hood of Sue's old car, trying to get her running again.

"We disappear into one little alternate dimension and you let my car break down?" she'd demanded forty eight hours after Victor and Valeria had brought the whole group back.

Eight months for them. Twelve years for him. Johnny couldn't believe it.

Then Reed had tried to explain it and he stopped trying. He was too happy to have them back to care.

"You look like hell, kid," Ben had said to him, first thing.

Johnny had grinned through his tears and replied, "All to match you, man."

Everything after that had been dizzying, arms everywhere, smiling faces and tears and Reed's road beard to mock. Sue had sat out on Victor's balcony with him that first night, nursing a very large glass of white wine.

"I've missed so much," she'd said, staring down at the lawn as Val chased Franklin around in a very unorthodox game of hide and seek. "She's so grown up." She turned to look at Johnny with a watery grin. "You did amazing."

Footsteps tramped down the driveway, dragging him from his thoughts. Valeria threw herself into the spot next to him, sighing heavily.

"What's your problem?" he asked, hand on her head, messing up her ponytail.

"It's so noisy," Val said. Johnny laughed out loud.

"Oh, kiddo," he said. "You've got no idea what noisy is."

"Were they always like that?" she said, wrinkling her nose.

"This is them being quiet," Johnny said, grinning.

Val groaned and Johnny started laughing again, so much love in his chest he felt like he must explode.

 

* * *

 

"Be honest with me," Peter said, grabbing handfuls of the covers and yanking. "Did you confess right before you pulled this off so you'd have a place to hide out from your family?"

"I'm letting Ben sleep in my room," Johnny said. He held onto the blankets until Peter shot him a nasty look over his shoulder. Johnny rolled over onto his side, fitting himself neatly against Peter's back.

"And?" Peter asked sleepily.

"And maybe I'm charging him rent," Johnny yawned. "Shh. I haven't told him that part yet."

"You're a menace," Peter said.

"Yep," Johnny grinned, kissing the back of his neck. "Aren't you glad?"

"Ecstatic," Peter said.

"Mm," Johnny said. "Me too."


End file.
